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I looked at myself in the mirror. I had received a deep gash to my forehead. Blood streamed down my face as I climbed out of the car. It had sustained heavy damage; slowly I staggered toward the Mercedes looking for any signs of life. I called out toward the car but received no response. The driver’s side was completely smashed in, its window had shattered and I could see blood running down the side of the door. It was then that I could hear sirens in the distance, they sounded so strange, like an air raid.

It was dark and the street light had gone out after the impact. Even as I drew closer I could not see who was inside. As I reached the door I could see blood splattered on the windshield, I knew I had seriously injured whoever was driving. The flashing lights and sirens of arriving rescue and police vehicles startled me. I turned around as they surrounded the area. I turned back to the Mercedes as the lights from the other vehicles shined inside illuminating the vehicles cabin.

“
No….Dad…? Dad!”

I had not noticed it was his car. He was slumped over partially onto the passenger seat. His neck was broken; he was not wearing his seatbelt. His face was covered in blood, I reached into to touch him, but my legs gave out. I fell to my knees; my hand reached up to the window the broken glass dug into it. I slumped down to the floor it felt as if I was dying. One of the policemen exited his vehicle running over to me.

“
Sir, can you hear me? Are you hurt, sir?”

I stared up at the officer and another thought entered my mind. This was not the first time I had brought tragedy to my family, this was not the first time I had hurt someone I loved.

“
My father…he’s….my….”

Prevention

I had my answer and it was one I could not accept. My hands found the gun I had taken from the squad car. I raised the gun to my head, closed my eyes and squeezed the trigger. The world was not done with me, my nightmare was not over. The gun did not fire; my hand fell drained of energy to the ground. My search, for the man who killed my father led me to myself, the person I had become, the person I tried to forget, but it did not begin after the events with Christine and Jonathan, it began long before that.

There would be no escape without the answer. My mother, my aunt and my sister all took steps to protect me and I had to find out why. How was it possible for me to remember so much when I was never there? Where did my memories come from and who put them there. I still did not have an answer to why I was in this world. What I did know was I killed them both. This nightmare did not begin with my father’s death, but with my brother’s.

Memories of Nobody

Anthony Joseph Hayden was born fourteen minutes and twenty-six seconds after I was. Technically I was the older brother and Anthony treated me as such from day one. Both my parents were originally from Wisconsin, they moved from Milwaukee to a small suburb to raise their family. My parents owned a small ranch-style house off of the main road leading into and out of town. Their lives were peaceful and they were content to live there forever.

Five years later my brother was dead and my mother was tried and convicted in the eyes of most of our family for neglect. It was my job to watch out for him, but instead I watched him die in front of me. My parents were left with a town that shunned them, a family that turned their back on them and a child plagued with nightmares that were quickly destroying the rest of his childhood. They decided to leave their dream and moved to Chicago.

As for me, I went from terrifying visions of my brother to memories of nobody. By my sixth birthday I had met Jonathan, Aunt Jackie got my father a job with Media One and my brother was erased from history.

By the time I arrived back at my apartment it was well after midnight. It was not clear how much time I had spent in the library and honestly time just did not matter anymore. Something inside me was broken; it was the only explanation as to how my past and present could become so obscured. There is no sane mind that could forget the murder of his own father and then create a history so vivid and yet completely imaginary.

I stood in the dark looking up the stairs toward my sister’s room. I realized it could only be her memories that I could have claimed as my own. The night before everything began she was probing me, trying to find out what was inside. It was her words that cut me deep and it was my minds creation of Ana that tried to reiterate them to me. Ashley knew my crimes and had to stand there listening to me attacking a conjured foe when the real enemy was within. My mother wanted nothing more than to keep the truth from me and my sister wanted me to learn it before it was too late.

I ascended the stairs and realized that was the conversation on the digital recorder. My sister knew that eventually either I would learn the truth or that someone would tell me. What I did not have was the how or the why. That was not quite true. I had some of the why. The dreams about my brother returned just after I turned twelve. I did not tell anyone about them. At the time I did not know the shadowed figure in my dreams was my brother. I turned to the church for answers and even at that young age was able to phrase my question in a way that would not reveal anything; unfortunately, it also led to non-answers.

When I left the church my parents wanted to know why and so I told them about what Miss Kimberley had said the last day I was there, but that was not the last conversation on the subject. Later that night I spoke with my mother and told her about the images I saw and the face that looked like mine. The horror in her face was unmistakable; she knew exactly what I was experiencing. It was then that she sat me down and retold the story of my brother. She called it a horrible accident and that I had been under psychiatric care to help me deal with it. I had so many questions. Why was I able to forget my brother so easily and why were they so willing to never speak his name.

I did not receive any answer but I made a promise. My mother asked that I never speak about this to anyone not even Ashley. She told me she would tell Ashley about Anthony when she was older. The why was simple, she believed that ignorance was the only way to maintain peace and I was a willing participant, not only in keeping Ashley ignorant, but myself as well. Perhaps I did not want to know the truth because I did not want another problem to deal with. With so much going on at the time another burden would only cause more harm. With the nightmares gone I believed I was free, that the questions had been answered. Obviously, I was wrong.

The last time I searched Ashley’s room there was one place I did not look. I knelt down at the head of her bed and reached underneath it. Within seconds I had her diary in my hand. She did not try to hide it from me. More likely it fell and was accidentally kicked under the bed. There was no reason to hide it. I had no interest in reading her thoughts on the past. Now it was those thoughts that could be the answer to everything. As with Christine I wanted to read Ashley’s thoughts from the beginning, but instead I searched until I found what I was looking for. Sadly I was beginning to believe I would have plenty of time to read the rest of Ashley’s and Christine’s diaries.

I know that telling him the truth the first time is what led to his breakdown, but we cannot keep lying to him...asking other's to lie. Sooner or later he will find out the truth. I’d rather it be me than a stranger. Mom doesn't understand what this will do to him. Everything she has told him, changing the story around so his mind could accept it. But how do I tell him? How do I tell him it was me who sat in the room that night the hospital called? How do I explain to him that I was the one who sat in the ICU with mom when the doctors and the policemen came?

I had only read a few sentences and had been proven right. I wished I was wrong. It was Ashley who sat with my mother that night. It was her trip she discussed with her. When the call came it was Ashley who watched my mother’s expression change. The ride to the hospital, standing in the lobby hearing the news report, seeing my father lying their dying, those were my sister’s memories not mine. Her descriptions of watching my mother talking to the doctors and the policemen approaching her, they matched what I had believed were my experiences. However, the similarities ended when my mother returned and Ashley asked where she had gone.

My mother sat me down; she could see I had questions about the doctor and the policemen. Taking hold of my hand I knew she had horrible news to tell me. I could tell that it would be a long recovery for dad, but part of me had to accept that he would never recover. At first I believed that was what I was about to be told. The policemen were investigators; they had been part of the first responders at my father accident. She confirmed that it was a drunk-driving accident. A young man was arrested at the scene; he was taken to the same hospital. All I wanted was to see him. I wanted to look in the face of the man who did this to us.

I demanded to see him. I was angry and even seeing my mother cry did not take that away. She begged me to stay with her and dad but I kept pushing. I stood to walk out not caring for my mother’s feelings or the fact that my dad could pass away at any moment. I felt it was my right to see him; mom did not need to protect me from anything. Just as I reached for the door she stood up and forced his name from her lips. “It’s Timothy” She said and in that second every ounce of strength was taken from me. I fell into my mother’s arms crying hysterically in disbelief, but inside I knew it was true.

I held onto my mother for what seemed like hours. I can’t describe everything I felt, but it felt as if I was dying as well. I told my mother that I wanted to see him. She could tell that this was important, that I needed to see him, tell him what I was feeling. We got permission from the detectives. He was in a private section of the hospital in a room guarded by an officer. Inside Timothy why lying on a hospital bed unconscious, he was hand-cuffed to the bed attached to a series of monitors, but besides a few cuts and bruises and a gash on his forehead I could not see anything wrong with him. My mother walked over to the side of the bed grabbing hold of his hand. She looked back at me, but I just stood there in the doorway.

I just stood there looking at him. I hated him for what he did, but mom didn't. She did everything in her power to help Timothy. She talked to Aunt Jackie to help keep Timothy out of prison. I never found out what they did, but Jackie told me she contacted dad's boss, Nathaniel Davalos. She said he had experience in these matters and could him Timothy.

I had my connection to Ana and with that I realized how far my mind had fallen. Ana Davalos was a real person and I did see her lying in her room crying, but it was not because it was the anniversary of her mother’s death. I remembered the next day my father told me there had been a death in the Davalos family. I immediately searched for information and found that Ana Davalos had committed suicide. She had hung herself from her balcony. Nathaniel Davalos did have experience with protecting the people he loved, he had done it for his daughter and though it saved her from prison it did not save her from the guilt pent up inside.

There was something missing, the papers did not have a reason for Ana’s suicide. There was no story of an accident or that Ana was involved in anything. I did not know if the story I was told in my dream was real or a shuffling of my own story. Whatever happened they were able to cover it up and just as Jackie turned to Nathaniel Davalos for my father’s job she turned to him to set me free. Those were the papers I discovered. Jackie’s firm worked with Nathaniel Davalos and his private lawyers. She had worked with Media One many times, another connection I had missed.

Timothy was free from prison, but something inside him was damaged and it wasn’t physical. My mother knew more than she was telling me and though I did everything I could I was unable to find out what she knew. Not long after the deal was struck Timothy was transferred to the Lake View Psychiatric Hospital. At first I believed it was part of the deal, but he was only there a few months when he was released. When he arrived home he was so distant. Our family had been through hell and there was no one to help us through it.

My mother spent her time talking to Aunt Jackie or typing away on her laptop. I tried to contact members of our extended family, but they wanted nothing to do with us. I knew there was some bad blood between the families, but I had hoped that with many of them coming to the funeral that the old feud could be put to rest, but that was not the case. We were out of money and I feared for our future. I had put my feelings to the side for the sake of the family. I didn’t hate Timothy anymore, but I couldn’t say that I loved him. I regretted feeling that way and I regretted even more that Timothy could tell how everyone felt. He had nobody to talk to; he was all alone in his own world.

It was just as Doctor Leafs said; one can take real events from their lives and implant them into their delusions. The history I had believed was pieced together from fragments of truth found though various sources. What Ana did not mention was the fact that the feud was due to my brother’s death and how they blamed my mother for it. It was the reason my mother fought so hard to protect me, to protect us. She did not want to lose anyone else, she had lost so much and it was entirely my fault.